Mirror, Mirror
by Childlike Mentality
Summary: God let something special slip, through hands of loving fingertips. And you're stuck with no breath, no motion. As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean. "Oh Snow White, what have you done?". Two-shot. Tassie.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Mirror, Mirror  
><strong>Genre: <strong>Poetry/Tragedy  
><strong>Pairing: <strong>Todd x Massie  
><strong>Summary<strong>: God let something special slip, through hands of loving fingertips. And you're stuck with no breath, no motion. As idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean "Oh Snow White, what have you done?" Two-shot.  
><strong>AN: <strong>Hello people, this is my first poetry genre, also my first time writing Todd, and in second person, and a two-shot. So yeah, lots of new things. At first it might not look like poetry but the second chapter is really where the poem is. Thousand was nice enough to spend her time helping me pick out a nice summary, and proofread this grammar filled mess. **-Addict**  
><strong>AN2:<strong> I'd also just like to say this is my way of spreading a message, so if you'd be so kind as to look past the fictional characters and fictional setting and really think of this piece as more than just a story; think of it as someone's way of living. **-Addict**

* * *

><p><strong>Mirror, mirror upon the wall<br>Who is the fairest of all?**

* * *

><p>The first time you see her isn't all mystical, not like the way you've read about or seen in movies, but what do you know? You're something akin to adolescents; a mix between a baby face and cracking voice, just starting to learn that girls don't have cooties and the awkward talking of birds and bees. You don't know how to act around a girl who stops by with a plate of cookies, demanding that your sister eat them <em>and <em>like them.

You stand in the background playing your DS only looking up when a shadow looms over.

It's her, standing there in a tumble of brunette waves and glaring amber eyes. She demands to know your name, to which you reply with any other snot nosed brother response.

"None of your business."

And she flicks you in your forehead.

You salt all her cookies in retaliation.

* * *

><p>She comes over way too much for your liking, even if does live right next to you now and Claire has been less gloom and doom when she's around.<p>

You find out her name is Massie Block, she's the same age as your sister, and she's not something you can get rid of with rudely placed words.

* * *

><p>Your friends say the brunette girl is "smokin' hot", but they also think your sisters a goddess.<p>

So what the hell do they know?

* * *

><p>It's your birthday and it's only natural that you have a pool party.<p>

You invite most of your guy friends, who in turn invite some of the more popular girls, who invite their friends and soon they're more people than you expected but they all bought presents so you keep your cool.

Claire managed to get Massie to come over to keep her company in the festivities, and you find yourself getting slightly peeved at how much attention the brunette girl is getting when this is _your_ birthday and all _your _friends.

You stomp inside the house during twenty questions of Massie Block. You go through the fridge for something to drink, pulling out a water bottle and slamming the swinging door closed. You jump because she's standing there, giving you a coy look and smirking twitch of her lips.

"What?" you demand because you hate the way she enjoys your anger.

"How old are you, little boy?" A nickname she decided upon the first time you met.

"Old enough."

"Don't get smart." Her nose wrinkles ever so slightly.

"It's my birthday, Block, I can do what I want." You scowl because your still pretty pissed and her righteous attitude isn't helping your own.

"Well I got you a present you little brat." She pulls something from behind her back and shoves it into your chest.

"I don't want it."

"I don't care." She flicks you in the forehead and you know that it should make you angrier.

You scold yourself later for letting a grin spread on your lips, redeeming yourself by splashing the entirety of your water bottle in her face.

* * *

><p>Your mom dresses you up in black three days before the end of eighth grade, and your old enough to know that funerals aren't any fun but they're also something you must show respect for. You try not to wrinkle the itchy suit pants they give you to wear on the ride over.<p>

When you get there you don't recognize any faces, except Massie's parents. Claire walks away from your side and you notice Massie sitting on one of the black leather couches.

You find it odd that the brunette girl's not crying, just staring blankly out into space, it's only till after the wake and burial ceremony that you find out the person who died was Massie's aunt, and the cause of death was suicide.

You feel bad that you didn't give your condolences.

* * *

><p>You shot up to be quiet the studly boy over the summer, or so your mother gushes<p>

"Hey, little boy, where's your sister?" Massie comes skipping up your front porch. School was starting in a few days. Freshman year for you and Junior year for her. You think they're probably going clothes shopping, and you make a face just thinking about it.

When she gets to your level you're politely surprised that you've grown taller than her, just an inch, but still fair game.

"Maybe I should start calling you Todd now." She smiles widely tilting her head up ever so slightly.

You snort. "And change from the pet names, Block?"

"You're on the verge of being a man." Her voice is like a light purr, and it's only now that you realize how close you are. You're pretty sure there's an electrical charge in the space between you.

The spell is instantly broken when she flicks you on the forehead, sauntering past you and inside the house with a trail of laughter behind her.

You scowl, but it's the first time you're too stupefied to get her back.

* * *

><p>You overhear a conversation Claire has with one of her friends, a blonde girl named Kristin Gregory that you hear about almost all the time. Another "bestie" Claire managed to pick up.<p>

"She totally blew me off, Kris, I don't know what's gotten into her." There's a pause.

"Yeah well she went into a psycho match with the teacher yelling about this test grade she got that was below an eighty-five. Honestly it was crazy to watch I think I was more embarrassed than she was before she stormed out and came to her senses."

You walk away towards your room, before shrugging it off and chalking it up to Claire's impeccable ability (that all teenage girls seem to have) to exaggerate.

* * *

><p>It's almost half way through freshman year when you're walking home from a painfully boring day at school, Claire being too busy with her gal pals to go home right away. You can't wait to sink into your bed and fall asleep.<p>

You notice her when she calls out to you, and you stand their surprised at the spectacle.

Because Massie Block is balancing on the stone wall about ten feet above the ground and she's giggling as if she's not doing something very illogical and dangerous. You cautiously approach her.

"Hey Todd, for a second I thought it was you but well I can't see from here and I'm not really sure of anything anymore," she snickers.

"What are you doing up there?" you ask, holding a hand up to the sun so that you can look up at her without going blind.

"I was just wondering what if felt like." She teeters ever so slightly.

"Massie come down please, you're so stupid if you think you won't get hurt." You motion for her to climb to the lower parts of the wall.

"I'm not stupid, I'm fascinated. Are you going to catch me, Todd?" Her laugh catches you off guard and you glare at the easy way she seems to disarm you.

"Are you on something, Block? Get down."

"Yes, daddy," she snarks.

In the next second she's jumping down, and you end up carrying her all the way home because of a possibly broken ankle.

She doesn't apologize.

* * *

><p>She changes before your eyes, getting darker, sardonic and apathetic about everything.<p>

Normal things that people would think she grew out of become so glaringly obvious to you, like the way she's gradually switched her bright colored wardrobe to more darker colors, she's not sitting outside reading a book on her front lawn, or that a couple of days out of year she'd gather you and Claire together to give regards to an assortment of pets that have died over the years.

Claire doesn't hang out with her as much and when the anniversary for Massie Block's aunt is clearly in focus you expect to hear about a small gathering being thrown with Massie as the hostess, but nothing ever seems to take place and the day goes by just like any other day.

You know something is different, wrong even, but you're only her best friends little brother.

So you keep your mouth shut.

* * *

><p>You catch her one day over the summer in the yard between your two houses. She's sprawled out in the tall grass with a lighter in one hand and a cigarette between her lips.<p>

You know that image of a brunette girl in bright sundresses won't seem to be happening ever again.

"New jacket?"

You look down at the leather coat. Claire go it for you for your birthday (being fifteen isn't as amazing as one would think). Despite it being summer the days still contained a cool breeze that was still perfect for her present.

"Birthday present," you reply, gazing at her. She seems surprised for a moment before masking her features behind a gray wisp of smoke.

"I forgot," she whispers and you shrug in return.

"I never got you a gift anyways, Block," you reason, trying to change that crestfallen look on her face.

"But you were always there, even when some people weren't." She pulls her knees up to her chest.

You walk over to her and take a careful seat, the grass tickle the palms of your hands as you lean backwards.

"Well you can still get me a gift if you like," you muse and she snickers before taking another drag of her cigarette.

You and her sit there in comfortable silence.

"When did you start smoking?" you question, tilting your head to regard her small shrug.

"Not sure, probably the first time I tried weed." She holds out the cigarette to you in a sharing gesture.

You shake your head. "I've never done it."

"That's good, it's a nasty habit." She drops some ash off the bud into the grass.

"Me and my embarrassing virgin lungs," you both laugh.

"Here let me help you, consider it your birthday present," she murmurs, shifting in the grass to face you.

You almost short circuit when she grabs your chin, takes a hit off the cigarette and blows the smoke in your face. She goes into a fit of laughter at your teary eyed look.

"Well it's not your worst birthday present," you remark, fully aware of her hand that's moved down to your shoulder.

She makes a hum of disapproval before leaning in and pressing your lips together. You're proud to say that it wasn't your first kiss, but she had this way of making you feel like some squirming middle-schooler.

Her lips taste smokey and different from the cherry chapstick or fruity lip gloss you were used to with other girls. She moves her body closer to you, guiding your hand to hold her around the waist. Her tongue traces your bottom lip and when you open your mouth even the smallest of fractions your hit with that full nicotine smoke.

You break apart from her in a fit of coughs.

"Better?" You can tell she's trying not to laugh.

"Hardly," you say begrudgingly.

She flicks you on your forehead, and you tackle her into the grass.

Claire finds you both wrestling on the ground, and for a whole afternoon it was like nothing had changed.

But you knew it had, you could just feel it.

* * *

><p>You start dating Massie Block, it was all sort of a blur but you remember the specific moment you started spending <em>way<em>too much time with her and she was hardly willing at first. She pushed you away more than you can count, and whenever you brought up the kiss she'd blame it on the drugs in her system.

You can't stand when she hurts herself with her own words and you find yourself reassuring her, telling her how beautiful she is, and maybe that's when it starts. That moment where you realize you want to spend every waking moment trying to fix what's become this slowly breaking girl.

One day you find yourself just laying in her bed with her smaller body positioned in such a way that only your knees touch. You've noticed she's been distant lately, hiding her face and barely letting you hold her. You don't know what's wrong but you want to change it.

You brush a stray strand of silky hair from her face and she open her eyes to stare at you.

You've always loved the color, a molten brown bordering on amber.

"You're beautiful, Massie," you murmur but she only closes herself off again.

* * *

><p>You invite her over for dinner; your parents don't seem very excited by the aspect of Massie coming over, just because they've heard less than desirable things about the brunette, but you assure them that none of it is true even if you're not totally positive about it yourself.<p>

Claire loves the idea of reconnecting with Massie and you know that you can count on your sister's good nature to chip away at the ice blocks your family seemed to have formed.

The door bell rings and you jump up to answer it.

"You came." You smile warmly at her and she gives a half hearted one back.

"Of course, your mom does make an awesome lasagna." When you give her a kiss on the hand she only blinks at you surprised. Claire watches the exchange and can't contain the grin on her face. Your sister brushes you out of the way to embrace her friend in a hug.

"It's not like I died guys, no need to choke me with all your reminiscing," Massie jokes, even though she finally gives you a real smile over Claire's shoulder.

* * *

><p>The dinner goes well, great even.<p>

You walk Massie towards the door as the others clean up; your parents insisted that she stay longer but the brunette only declines politely, saying that her parents would probably be home soon. When you're both standing on the porch she turns to face you.

"Thanks." She offers a small smile that you take in greedily.

"No, thank you." You reach for her, and she doesn't shy backwards like normal.

One of your hands tilt her face upwards to your own, and you lean in to rest your forehead against hers. Her eyes hold you for a second before they slide closed, and you place a chaste kiss on her eyelid, her cheekbone, the corner of her mouth.

"Todd," she whispers and you take that as your queue to press your lips to hers.

She pulls away after a few seconds, before turning with a word and descending the steps. You watch her cross the lawn to her own house before returning back inside.

* * *

><p>It's only been ten minutes since Massie went home, and your sister rasps slightly on your door. She opens it when you don't answer and she tosses you the purse Massie brought over.<p>

"She left it here, can you go bring it back?" Claire questions smiling slightly.

You nod before throwing on some shoes; you've been waiting for another excuse to see her again.

* * *

><p>All the lights are off when you knock on the door, and Massie's parents still aren't home.<p>

You try the door but it's locked. You debate whether to ring the door again and look at your watch to see if it's late. Maybe she was sleeping?

You have this sinking feeling likes somethings wrong. Formulating that reasoning in your head, you search for the spare key they keep in their mailbox. When the door is open you get this foreign chill up your spine but continue the walk to upstairs.

"Massie?" you call, not wanting her to think it was some sort of intruder or something.

You see the light to her bathroom illuminating the dark hallway and you step up to knock on the door.

"Hey, Mass, you left your purse." When you get no answer you try the knob, but it's like everything else, it's locked.

"Mass?" Fear starts coursing through your veins.

It takes about two seconds to debate whether to break the door down, and with all your strength you slam into it. It swings open and clangs against the opposite side.

You want to be wrong so badly, want her to be taking a shower or listening to music so that when you barge in she berates you and ushers you out.

But it's not the sight you're greeted with at all.

Because the first thing you notice is a dismantled razor sitting on the sink counter, it's steel blades spread out around it. Then you see Massie, sitting in the tub with her head lolled backwards and eyes closed. Tear tracks stain her face and one of the blades is clutched in her hand.

There's blood, you see but don't want to believe, there's blood everywhere.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>The next chapter will probably be posted in a week or two week's time, and will be much shorter than this. Review, my dear readers, and I might be so inclined to speed up the writing process, also Thousand would appreciate the support since she is writing a companion drabble to this ;) -**Addict  
>Shameless Advertisment: <strong>A seven chapter Cassie is almost upon you wonderfuly readers, so Author Alert and keep a look out!


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: **This is a very serious subject matter, and we'd appreciate if everyone took away the message. **-Addict & Thousand**

* * *

><p><strong>"White as snow, red as blood, black as ebony," she said<strong>  
><strong>"this time the dwarfs cannot awaken you."<strong>

* * *

><p>You still hear the ringing, an ambulance siren that plays over and over in your head as if a broken record; and you try to see the signs she should have given you, but you can't, you never could. People blur around you, someone tries to form some semblance of a conversation. You're silent, so much so in fact that you think you're in shock. Every nerve in your system is sapped.<p>

You sit there, looking down at the smeared blood on your shaking hands, and wonder why.

_drawing lines in the snow_  
><em>with a thin steel blade,<em>  
><em>watching red seep up from the furrow<em>  
><em>and collect and cascade.<em>

"Todd, are you alright?"

You blink, hands returning to their clean state, curling and uncurling your fingers in mild surprise before realizing where you are.

You make some type of noise, deep in your throat, an agreement that you hear the woman across from you. She places a careful manicured hand on your knee, jarring you back into reality.

Therapists carry this stigma. They're only used when they need to fix someone, and that's what you don't like. Because you don't need to be fixed, your life does, and you know that it's going to take much more than talking to heal that.

But your mom manages to find one who's not only tolerant of your bad attitude but can also make you feel guilty for rudeness.

"I asked you about what happened that night, with Massie." Her name makes you shrink back into the couch, eyes sliding closed, a picture of amber clear as if she stood in front of you now. Even with the months void of seeing her face, it's scary really, how the mind works.

"You always ask me. You always ask me that same damn question every time." You know it's not right to take out your anger on someone who's 'supposedly' trying to cure you, but you can't help it. If you don't feel anger the loneliness takes over, regret surfaces, pain erodes at the hole in your chest and the cycle repeats as you shut yourself off again. It's endless really.

"How does it make you feel when I ask you to relive that moment?" She sounds sympathetic to your reactions, but it just makes you loathe her a little more.

"Tired, just tired."

She writes something down in her notes and it's the first time out of the many that you're not sarcastic or rude, exhaustion rests heavily in your limbs. It reminds you that outside this enclosed trap of a room this woman in front of you could be a wonderful mother or wife, someone who's caring and nice, but all you can think is how much you hate her. It can't be helped.

"Did you get a good sleep last night? Seven to eight hours at the least."

"I can't sleep."

"Are the pills not helping?"

"I don't want to sleep. I just dream of her, and I don't want to wake up."

_A fog blurs her vision,_  
><em>raindrops slips down her face.<em>  
><em>The world becomes black and ashen,<em>  
><em>raindrops and red embrace.<em>

The woman, with her tightly bound bun and fine pressed suit, doesn't look concerned; just takes a few more notes before looking up again, you know that you said something that displeases her. She has a tell; the way her nose crinkles ever so slightly, refusing to give any eye contact until the room settles in a stewing silence.

Your eyes drag along the creases in the wall till they land on a small clock hanging above a mahogany door. Not much longer, you think, sitting up straighter.

"How's your family? Anything concerning you?"

You cross your arms over your chest; a reserved symbol of your tenacious reluctance to say more. Either way, a small smile takes control of her lips and you wonder just how much time she's spent studying you, cataloging everything that makes you twitch. Knowing all your tells.

"How's Claire?"

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Well only by your definition." You can tell she's confused; seemingly her favorite expression of the day.

_Numb from the cold,_  
><em>she feels nothing.<em>

"And my definition would be?" she questions writing again, and you get this weird premonition that she's sketching some type of drawing like those crude sitcoms on television. If Massie were here you know she'd demand to see what exactly this 'professional' is writing about her. The very thought of it makes you want to grin like a madman, because you know Massie, or well, you thought you did; it doesn't matter though, because to you it seems like you're the only one who truly knows even just a small part of Massie Block.

"Normalcy, getting back to your everyday lives. Acting like nothing happened, like the whole world is playing some sick joke on you so you need to just forgive and forget." You press a clenched fist to your forehead.

"There has been a lot of debate on what is normal in our society." The doctor leans back in her chair.

"It seems like you're able to make the judgement here. Claire told me that she doesn't have to come back, that your colleague gave her a clean bill of health. And if you want to know how I feel it's a lot of envy and anger with a bit of hatred thrown in there," you sneer, but she takes it in stride. Probably believing it's an improvement from the constant cursing that went on in the beginning.

"You and Claire are two different people. Your recovery time will be different, plus it's not my call to make. My only responsibility is to make sure you're okay."

You shake your head at her, a harsh laughter escapes when realization sets in that suddenly you have all these life questions that have no answers, will never have answers and you accept that because if you didn't, if the world didn't, there would be chaos. An insatiable desire of pure turmoil, akin to that itch you get when you can't think of the name to a song or the character in a book, except worse, so much worse.

"Claire told me you sat in on one of her sessions, a rather important conversation that she's never mentioned to me before. It seemed like there was a period in time where Massie and Claire took a break from their friendship and Massie hurt herself enough to need medical attention. She was cutting herself way before the night I found her and Claire knew."

_Something is wrong_  
><em>with such a beautiful mess.<em>

"Yes I had been there during a session, only to gain another perspective so that I can better understand. One that doesn't relate to our topic at hand, Todd," she speaks sternly, without confirming your above statement.

You give her a semi-annoyed glare. "I thought we were talking about Massie."

"We're talking about your relationship with Massie, not Claire's." She places her notebook down, uncrossing her legs. "If you were to describe your relationship with Massie in one sentence what would it be?"

"She was everything to me." You hear the clock click away the time, the couch squeaking as you shift.

"So you classified her as your girlfriend?" she questions.

"I'd classify her as my whole world, and I hate how I feel angry and guilty at the same time. That it's like I'm the one who died, and she's still-" The words choke you, head sinking towards your chest listlessly.

_No, this isn't..._  
><em>this isn't right.<em>  
><em>her eyes close, vacant.<em>

The doctor nods in understanding. "It's natural for you to feel regret and anger, it's a way of processing your grief."

"Processing my grief..." you mimic, breathing out a defeated sigh. "If you say so."

You're forever drowning, stuck in a state of feeling betrayed and being the betrayer.

_hard_

"If you could tell Massie anything, right now, what would it be?"

_to_

"I guess I would tell her that I'm sorry."

"And?" The question irritates you.

"And that I wish I could have done something."

"Come on, Todd, get it out. This is Massie you're talking to now, that's all you're going to say to her?"

_breathe._

"I would ask her why she didn't tell me what was wrong. Why she let me continue to believe nothing was wrong. I would ask her why she did this to herself. Why she would do this to me, to us!"

_Then nothing,_

Your visions blurry, and it's only till your heart tightens in your chest that you realize the tears springing to your eyes, and it's so foreign and strange it makes you rub your eyes till they burn.

"I'd tell her I miss her. That a part of me understands, and a part of me wants to shake her and hold her and tell her that she was never alone. No matter how much she thought she was."

You almost forget you have an audience, but the therapist nods and gives that small, gentle smile. "Massie had a history of self-injury and reckless behavior. She most likely didn't injury herself with the intention of dying."

You nod, even though you'll never know, and for the rest of your life you'll stay in a state of never knowing. "I'd tell her that I love her. I don't think I told her that before."

_calm._

There's blood, you see but don't want to believe, there's blood everywhere.

Massie's sitting in the tub, breathing shallow, face pale. You're standing by her side now, taking the sharp steel, cutting yourself in the process, and pulling her from the mess.

"Massie, Massie, God what the hell happened?" Everything is on overdrive, you're acting on instinct, reason fleeting.

Her full weight sags into you, and it topples the two of you on the bathroom floor, Massie's head on your thigh, bleeding wrists clutched in your hands. The bleeding won't stop, but you try to halt it.

"Hey, Massie, talk to me." You're reaching for the phone in your pocket fervently, red smudging the screen, hands shaking so much you drop the phone, once, twice. You leave the phone on the bathroom floor as you type the number 9.

Then 1. "Mass," you whisper gently.

A soft groan passes her lips.

1 again. "Todd?" Her voice is weak, a breathy gasp.

"Block," you try to laugh but it breaks off. "What did you get yourself into?"

She hums, "Love you."

You hit call. "It'll be okay, Mass."

You brush a stray hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to her temple. "It'll be okay."

_oh Snow White,_  
><em>what have you done?<em>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: <strong>Enjoy, and review if you so desire. **-Addict & Thousand**


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